


south park one shots? yes please

by someonespooky



Category: South Park
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gay, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-22 04:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15573318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonespooky/pseuds/someonespooky
Summary: It's not discontinued, but I couldn't find an "unfinished" tag and also I don't plan on finishing the story in here so uh...Tags will be edited sometimes maybe to include the ships or the kinks. If there's something ya don't like, just skip it and wait for the next chapter I guess?And my writing sucks ass so...Y'know what, don't even bother reading my story in the first place. Just go click on the tags in the story instead. Easy.





	1. homework

Stan sat up in Kyle's bed, reclining my head against a plain white pillow. Kyle was at his desk, scribbling stuff down on a piece of paper with the occasional murmur.   
  
"It is safe to say that a neophyte, compared to an expert on the subject, wouldn't..." He mumbled in concentration.   
  
"The hell is a neophyte? Sounds like an ork or an elf or something," Stan asked, sitting up and chuckling.   
  
"Someone who has yet to complete something or try something," he explained, still fastidiously writing on the lined sheet of paper.   
  
"Like a virgin?" Stan chuckled.   
  
"Yes, you fucking pervert, like a virgin," Kyle huffed. He was trying to focus on the paper before him, his face now heating up ever so slightly. It wasn't the kind of blush you see on someone normally, but rather the pink that started from his nose and cheeks and feathered outwards, eventually spreading completely across his face. Silence drowned the atmosphere, giving it the feel of a library. Kyle's nerdy glasses weren't really helping, either. Don't get him wrong, they were cute, and they complimented his sparkling eyes and bouncy red curls ever so delicately. Sometimes, though, they seem like they hide Kyle's eyes, like a screen. Sometimes, Stan wished he could really look into his emerald gems of eyes. Stan want him to stare intently at me with his "fuck you asshole I hate you but also I love you" glare and his absolutely flushed scarlet face.   
  
Platonically, of course. No homo and all that.   
  
Stan had been laying against a soft pillow in the read-head's bed, hogging up the space he'd probably be in right now if it weren't for me. He insisted that it was fine, but Stan started to doubt that after thirty minutes of me stitching together small rubber bands on a plastic loom-like device.   
  
"Ky, dude, you keep, like, uh... fuckin... rubbin' your neck... You okay? There's still room on the bed for you-"   
  
"I'm fine! I'm fine. I'm okay," Kyle quickly reassured me, waving his hand up for a split second.   
  
"What? Is that too gay for you? Hmmm, Kyyyy?" Stan teased, propping myself up on my right arm.   
  
"Yes- Stan mean! No?" He fumbled, his curls bouncing and shifting.   
  
Okay, so maybe Stan  _ might _ have more than platonic feelings towards Kyle. But it's all normal. Super-best-friends and shit. And, okay, maybe he  _ did _ have those really weird fantasies but it's not like that's out of the ordinary for a senior in high school, right?   
  
Maybe what Stan did next was a  _ bit _ uncalled for.   
  
Stan walked up to the redheaded boy, watching him intently trying to focus on the words he was now somewhat frantically scribbling down. He seemed to know Stan was there, as though he could sense me. Stan placed my chin in his thick curls, resting and letting my breathing slow down as a soft giggle slipped out of my lips.   
  
"Stan ? The hell are you doing?" he grunted.    
  
"Just watchin' ya do your homework. Your handwriting is, like, really fucking neat," Stan replied, deadpanned.   
  
"That's nice, Stanley. Now, can you move your head? It's really distr- Like, it's uncomfortable," the shorter boy huffed as his breathing seemingly became more rapid with the slight hitch every so often.   
  
"As you wish," Stan giggled. My chin slid downwards to rest on his shoulder comfortably, the noirette's breath warm in the shorter boy’s ear.

At that point, Kyle could barely focus. It was damn near impossible when your super hot best friend had been breathing down your ear.

“Ugh… I get it, alright? This is boring. You don't need to start tickling me to be entertained. This assignment is important. Garrison will have my fucking throat and… Fuck, Stan, what are you doing-?!” Kyle’s breath hitched as he tried to control himself. There's a warm sensation near his left thigh, a thumbprint moving in circles around his inner thigh. Kyle instantaneously jerked away, looking towards the window.


	2. hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stop getting drunk, Stan.

The warm buzz of the morning flooded Stan’s senses at first, being followed soon after by the nauseating headache of his hangover. The unpleasant attacking of his senses from last night's endeavors were almost overbearing, had it not been for the familiar, off-rhythm singing in French.

_ “Si je pouvais commencer à la moitié de ce que vous pensez de moi…” _

He wasn't sure, but he could swear that a tint of raspiness in the voices that was complemented by a jazz piano rhythm in the background.

_ “...que je pouvais faire quelque chose que…” _

That song sounded so familiar, too. He couldn't tell what it was, because the lyrics were in French and he was hungover to hell and back, but it sounded like a song you'd hear in a rainy scene in an older movie.

_ “...Quand je vois comment tu agis, je me demande quand je reviens…” _

The noirette decided to try and stand up, a task that sounded easy until he actually tried. His legs could barely move and his head was spinning. He felt like he was going to vomit. Finding that the task would be too much, he decided to text Kyle and ask him to come over to help him. Stan barely even had enough energy to reach over for his phone, which was set on his nightstand.

\--

**goth bitch:** hey Kyle?

**Kyley-B:** What's up?

**goth bitch:** I have a hangover again. can you come over?

**Kyley-B:** Come downstairs, dumbass.

\--

Stan felt completely shocked. He was so confused. There was no way that the beautiful humming in French that flooded the house, complimented by an equally as beautiful scent of sizzling pancakes, was Kyle, the boy who never knew how to cook as far as Stan knew and was always off rhythm, tempo, and beat.

_ “...Je pourrais faire quelque chose _ _   
_ _ Je pourrais même apprendre à aimer comme toi…” _

He knew that voice was so familiar. 


End file.
